Everything is in the Subtext
by fearord2
Summary: The things that you don't say mean more than those you do, especially when it is too hard to say the things you really want to say. Especially when you are Seth Cohen.


Everything is in the Subtext

fearord

disclaimer: the usual. I don't own them.

Rating: PG for subject matter.

Pairing: R/S

Seth looked at Ryan's reflection in the glass.

"You know, dude, sometimes it sucks to be me." Seth said.

Ryan looked up from staring at the picture, raised his eyebrows. "Absolutely. Now that I'm living in your pool-house, you have to change clothes in your own room. That would cramp anyone's style."

"True, amigo. But I was thinking a little more deeply here. Here I am, and for the first time in my life, I have someone—you—with whom I actually would like to hang around, and who does not appear to despise my company. Strange? Yes. But true." Seth paused for a moment, and then assumed a somewhat wounded expression. "Unfortunately, if we had to have roles in a movie, I would be the best friend, not the main character. You know?"

Ryan looked at him. "The best friend?"

"Yea, you know, the somewhat geeky but ultimately likeable best friend. Faithful, loyal, true, the perfect foil for the main character's rapier wit, the confidante. The one with suspect fashion sense but who supplies one major thing that the main character lacks."

"Aha," Ryan replied. "And what would you be supplying to the main character?" He raised one eyebrow.

"How do you do that?" Seth asked. "Forget it, don't derail me. I don't know what it is that I would supply the main character, and that is, finally, the problem here. I have to supply something. Curly haired charm? A working knowledge of how Farscape season 4 differs from Farscape season 2? Irrelevant. I was discussing the role of the best friend in the movies. Tell me, Ry, what happens to the best friend? Do they get married in the last reel?"

"I'm afraid you've lost me. Pass me that towel, would you?" Ryan asked.

Seth handed him the towel. Ryan towelled his chest a moment, then threw the towel at Seth.

"Not the one you used! Ew."

"See? Comic foil. Rapier wit. Ok, maybe that wasn't rapier, but capitalizing Ew was a nice touch." Seth said.

"I did not capitalize ew." Ryan replied, taking a second towel from Seth.

"Ok, move on. We both know, so anyway, uh, hey, do you want me to leave?" Seth said.

"Why?" Ryan replied, kicking his trunks into the hamper.

"Uh, no reason. So back to the movies. What does happen to the best friend in all the great films?"

Ryan sighed. "You'd better tell me, Seth, before we both loose track of what you are saying."

"They die. That is the job of the best friend. To die. In this movie, my job would be to play on the sympathy of the audience, and then die in the end, thereby giving the main character a reason to cry in a poignant yet manly fashion. Thereby securing the Oscar that the main character has so richly deserved for so many years, especially after they were cheated out of the statue several years back by that hack Dustin Hoffman. Or whoever won the Oscar for Tootsie."

"And who you think that who is the main...?" Ryan asked.

"You just don't get it, do you?"

"I'm trying, Seth. I know what you are saying, but I'm not buying it."

"Because it isn't clear to you just what our roles are here?"

Ryan set the picture of Seth at Marissa's house back down. It had been taken several years ago, by the looks of Seth's hair. Seth was wearing yellow swim trunks by the Cooper's pool. Marissa was in the background, eating what may have been a hotdog.

"Clear to me, Seth? What is this?"

"Just an observation. Let's analyze this scene closely. You are staring at a picture. Is it of me? Yes. But why look at that photo when I am here? Is it because I am especially photogenic? I think not. Look who is in the background. It isn't my mom."

Ryan smiled. "Alright, fine. You can be the best friend. But that makes me the misunderstood hero."

"How come you get to be misunderstood? I want to be misunderstood. I would like to be tragic. Ooh. And flawed, but in a painfully cool kind of way that makes it a tragic flaw. Is that ok? Can I, for once, be tragic?" Seth looked pleadingly at nothing in particular.

"You just told me you were going to die in the last scene. Where is the 'no tragedy' here?"

"It isn't my tragedy. It is your tragedy. I mean the hero's tragedy. I mean, yea, sure, I get to die. But my death will be filmed gently with lots of close-ups on you. You get the close up, you get the pain, you get the golden lighting. You don't make a sound. You will look fabulous."

Ryan raised his eyebrows. "Aha. Did I make a wrong turn somewhere today? Because I am…" Ryan shook his head. "And we are seriously late. Pass me my shirt."

"Sorry, dude. I know I'm being stupid. But let's face it, it is pretty hard for a guy to get any attention when he is sitting next to you." Seth handed Ryan a light peach shirt.

"What is…?"

"Peach not your color?"

"And that is not my shirt."

"Ah. This better?" Seth handed Ryan a grey t-shirt.

"Thanks." Ryan paused and looked at Seth. "Are we having a serious conversation?"

"What?"

"I said, are we having a serious conversation? Or are we just wasting time?"

Seth looked puzzled and held his hands out in front of him in a gesture of surrender. "Whoever said this was a serious conversation? I never said that. I was just looking at you looking at the picture of me except you were looking right past me to Marissa."

Ryan looked up sharply.

"Dude, don't worry. I am not offended when people look past me. If I were, I would long since have jumped off a large bridge like object. Yet here I am. All I'm saying is in the photo of me, you looked at Marissa."

"Who isn't giving you attention that you want attention from?" Ryan asked.

"No one. Forget it, Ryan. That isn't the point."

Ryan shrugged his shoulders. "I think it is."

"Fine."

"Dude, can I wear your watch?" Ryan asked.

"Ah. Maybe that is what I supply. A watch."

Ryan stopped, looked at Seth. "That isn't true. You know it. Now let's go."

Seth handed Ryan the watch, and they walked out the door.


End file.
